Housewives worry, overwrought bards worry, witchers do no such thing. At most, witchers brood, which is far more serious and contemplative than mere worrying. And it's also something that Geralt has immense practice in, he is a champion brooder. He broods with nuance.
The impact of his protest, however, is probably deeply undercut by the sweet kiss he gets after it, the way that Jaskier presses their foreheads together and Geralt just lets him. He lets him do whatever he wants, touch his face, pull him around, take things out of his hands, with impunity. Says he loves him. Something in Geralt's chest twists up again at the words.
Jaskier switches the silver wolf brooch from his doublet to the outside of his cloak, and the display is only acceptable because they're in the middle of nowhere right now. Once they get close to Ard Carraigh and the road gets busier, he'll have to hide it again, put it underneath his cloak-- formerly Geralt's. The witcher himself will also have to hide his hair, since it's his most noticeable feature.
"Keep that under your cloak in Ard Carraigh so that I don't have to protect your body as well."
His hand rests over Jaskier's heart, and though he can't feel the beat of it through all of that fabric, he can still hear it. Steady and even, as though counting out beats per measure in a composition.
"If we keep this pace, we'll be in town by the day after tomorrow. After that, we follow the Gwenllech until we reach the Witcher's trail. There's a hunting cabin about halfway up where we can take shelter."
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Housewives worry, overwrought bards worry, witchers do no such thing. At most, witchers brood, which is far more serious and contemplative than mere worrying. And it's also something that Geralt has immense practice in, he is a champion brooder. He broods with nuance.
The impact of his protest, however, is probably deeply undercut by the sweet kiss he gets after it, the way that Jaskier presses their foreheads together and Geralt just lets him. He lets him do whatever he wants, touch his face, pull him around, take things out of his hands, with impunity. Says he loves him. Something in Geralt's chest twists up again at the words.
Jaskier switches the silver wolf brooch from his doublet to the outside of his cloak, and the display is only acceptable because they're in the middle of nowhere right now. Once they get close to Ard Carraigh and the road gets busier, he'll have to hide it again, put it underneath his cloak-- formerly Geralt's. The witcher himself will also have to hide his hair, since it's his most noticeable feature.
"Keep that under your cloak in Ard Carraigh so that I don't have to protect your body as well."
His hand rests over Jaskier's heart, and though he can't feel the beat of it through all of that fabric, he can still hear it. Steady and even, as though counting out beats per measure in a composition.
"If we keep this pace, we'll be in town by the day after tomorrow. After that, we follow the Gwenllech until we reach the Witcher's trail. There's a hunting cabin about halfway up where we can take shelter."